


mistletoe

by bardicaberration



Series: winter prompt challenge [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardicaberration/pseuds/bardicaberration
Summary: “The tree’s a she now?”Jaskier’s head pops out from behind the tree in question. There are pine needles stuck to his hat, and Geralt’s arm aches with the effort of holding himself back from reaching out and brushing them away.Jaskier rolls his eyes. “She is and she’s perfect.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: winter prompt challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041406
Comments: 8
Kudos: 120





	mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> from the [winter prompt challenge](https://witcher-and-his-bard.tumblr.com/post/634710612632551424/winter-prompt-challenge-i-wanted-to-make-a) over on tumblr. day 1: mistletoe

“This is it. This is the one, Geralt.”

Jaskier flings his arms wide and does a quick little spin, the pom pom on his hat bouncing furiously. Geralt feels his lips quirk in a smile, then quickly schools his features into pleasant neutrality as Jaskier stops spinning and turns to face him, expectant.

“You said the same thing about the last four trees we looked at.”

“I did,” Jaskier concedes, “but the last four trees weren’t perfect.”

Jaskier circles the tree, gesturing and muttering under his breath.

“A perfect cone, a triangle for the ages. No bad angles, good bough coverage from all sides… Look at the branches, how they fill her out, and—”

“The tree’s a she now?”

Jaskier’s head pops out from behind the tree in question. There are pine needles stuck to his hat, and Geralt’s arm aches with the effort of holding himself back from reaching out and brushing them away.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “She is and she’s _perfect._ ”

His head disappears and Jaskier reemerges from the row of trees he’d been examining. There’s sap on his jacket, somehow, and one soft knitted glove is in danger of falling from his pocket and landing on the dirty, hard-packed snow covering the lot. He notices the sap and wrinkles his nose, rubbing at the fabric. Geralt huffs fondly and Jaskier looks up.

“Don’t move!” he says, and bounds off to find an employee to wrangle their tree. Geralt stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, watching as his breath condenses in the cold air. Slowly, he spins on the spot, catching sight of two other couples debating the merits of various tree options. _Couples,_ he corrects, _not other couples. Not yet at least,_ his traitorous mind adds. His lips quirk upwards again as a family catches his attention, the father lifting his young daughter onto his shoulders, who reaches out to grab a tree branch as his husband snaps a photo. Geralt’s smile slowly disappears and he lets out another puff of air, digging the heel of his boot into the ground and enjoying the crunch of the crusted snow.

“Would you look at that!” Geralt jumps slightly and he whirls to face Jaskier. Jaskier’s cheeks are red with the cold and his eyes are soft. Geralt follows his gaze as Jaskier sees the same couple, laughing brightly as their daughter bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, pointing enthusiastically at a tree. Jaskier scrunches his nose as he smiles, and Geralt ignores the ache spreading slowly from his chest into his arms.

“Looks just like you,” Geralt scoffs. “Well?”

“There’s a twenty minute wait for them to come get the tree for wrapping,” says Jaskier. “I told them that a Christmas tree was no match for my—you,” he coughs. “So anyway, if you can carry it to the front we can get home and decorate it before we watch _Die Hard_ , which, for the record? Not a Christmas movie.”

The blush on Jaskier’s cheeks deepens and Geralt hums softly. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and steps towards the tree. He squats low and with a soft grunt lifts the tree from its stand and hoists the tree over his shoulder. Jaskier licks his lips and catches Geralt’s eye, gaze crackling with electricity. Geralt opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again and the moment is gone. Geralt clears his throat.

“Lead the way.”

Jaskier claps his hands twice and spins on his heel, laughing with delight.

The line to have the tree wrapped is long, and Geralt is distracted by the ache in his chest as Jaskier details the methodology behind his perfect holiday playlist. Jaskier gesticulates wildly to illustrate his points, hands occasionally grazing Geralt’s shoulder and once—maddeningly and, Geralt assumes, unconsciously—pushing a lock of Geralt’s hair behind his ear from from where it had fallen from its messy bun. Geralt shifts to adjust the tree in front of him and Jaskier grabs the trunk to help steady it, brushing his hand against Geralt’s. The touch is sticky with sap, and Geralt swears his heart is beating loud enough to hear over the carols pumping through the tinny speakers. They steady the tree and Jaskier pulls his hand back, thumb trailing across Geralt’s wrist as he does. Geralt inhales sharply and Jaskier looks up. The silence stretches on and Geralt wishes profoundly that he could be a Christmas tree, rather than a human man with _emotions_.

“You uh. You’ve got—“ Geralt pulls his free hand from his pocket and reaches out to brush Jaskier’s cheek. “Sap,” Geralt says, nodding. “Yeah.”

Jaskier breathes out, long and slow, his breath clouding in front of him. He fixes Geralt with a hard stare and Geralt shrinks into himself under the scrutiny of those clear blue eyes. Whatever Jaskier sees though, he blinks and launches back into his monologue.

“So you see, Geralt, that’s why no playlist is complete without _at least_ three versions of _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ , covering at least two different musical styles—”

The bored teenager wrapping the trees gestures for them to step forward and Geralt walks the tree toward the netting. He shifts his weight to lift it and looks up, allowing a small smile to cross his lips. The checkout stand is decorated with garland and white lights, and a small tree covered in baubles. And above them—

Bunches of mistletoe, cheerfully wrapped with a red plaid ribbon, hang from the awning. He frowns, eyes darting between the mistletoe and Jaskier, who remains blissfully unaware. The ache in Geralt’s chest breaks and his heart starts pounding. _It’s mistletoe,_ he thinks, _it’s tradition, it’s just a plant, it’s, it’s, it’s…_

Jaskier’s laugh, high and clear, breaks through the fog of his racing thoughts. Jaskier’s nose is scrunched and red and his soft knit hat is covered in pine needles and his face still has a spot of sap and _oh_ , Geralt thinks, _is this what love feels like?_ And before Geralt realizes what he’s doing,the tree leaves his hands, just barely landing in the outstretched arms of the teenage employee and Geralt pulls Jaskier into his arms, closes his eyes, and softly presses their lips together.

Jaskier squeaks and Geralt’s eyes fly open. Their lips stay pressed together as Jaskier looks at Geralt, eyes wide. Geralt pulls back slightly, adrenaline flooding his chest as he opens his mouth. Jaskier puts a gloved finger to Geralt’s lips and leans back in for another soft kiss.

They break apart after a moment and Geralt feels his cheeks heating red as he comes back to his senses, suddenly aware of what feels like every human on earth standing in their vicinity. He glances around furtively and the employee watching them snorts and rolls his eyes. Geralt pushes his lips together in a thin line as the kid starts to feed their tree through the netting and pointedly turns his back. He turns back to Jaskier, who has a finger resting lightly on his own lips, and gestures to the checkout stand.

“Mistletoe,” he says, voice gravelly. “It’s— You have to—”

“Do you—” Jaskier starts. He tries again. “Are you—”

Geralt cuts him off. “Yes,” he says. “Definitely.”

Jaskier grins, sidles towards Geralt, and slips his hand into Geralt’s big palm. Geralt squeezes once, and a burst of laughter bubbles from Jaskier’s chest.

“I can’t believe—”

“Stop it.”

“No, you—”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt growls, but he’s smiling and Jaskier is—besotted. Geralt is too, he realizes. “We don’t have to—”

“Oho, we definitely have to. We are _so_ talking about this later,” says Jaskier, pulling Geralt towards the cashier. He pays for their tree one-handed, loathe to let Geralt go. The wrapped tree is leaned against the counter next to them. “Mistletoe, he says! If I knew mistletoe was all it was going to take, I would have invested _years_ ago! Mistletoe, Geralt, I—”

Geralt rolls his eyes and stoops slightly, hefting the tree with his left arm and balancing it on his shoulder. Jaskier squeezes his hand this time and pulls Geralt towards the exit. He follows, humming happily under his breath, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> also on [the tumbl](https://bardicaberration.tumblr.com/).


End file.
